


Ocean Eyes

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-02-08 07:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12859332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: Following his battle with Billy, Frank has once again vanished into the ether, leaving Karen to wonder just where he is. Not willing to allow him to walk out of her life a second time, Karen tracks him down, demanding an answer. But nothing good ever seems to come from being involved with Frank Castle. What ruin lies around the corner when Billy makes a miraculous recovery and wakes from his coma?





	1. Hope

Weeks had passed since Frank had rescued Karen from certain death, and just like before, he had disappeared into the ether without so much as a goodbye. She isn’t sure what hurts worse, being left for a second time, or the lack of closure that comes with it. Against her better judgment, Karen had held onto the white roses that Frank had given her upon their run in all those weeks ago. She’d tied the stems into a collective bundle and hung them carefully upside down from the light in her kitchen. It took some time, but finally, the petals had dried, leaving her with a hefty reminder of a man who was, once again, nothing more than a ghost to her. There were times (many, many times, at that) where Karen debated putting the flowers back in the window. She’d even gone so far as to remove them from the light and put them back into the vase she had previously, but she never could bring herself to put them back in their familiar spot. She couldn’t handle further rejection. Fool her twice. There needn’t be a third.

Karen looks for Frank everywhere, though she hates to admit such a fact to herself. She catches herself casting sideways glances at the rows of homeless men that line the streets on her way to and from work, hoping like hell that she’ll bump into him just like they had all those weeks ago. But days pass, and still there is no sign of the man who’d come and gone from her life leaving in his wake a heartbreak unlike she’d ever known. It’s this heartbreak, knowing that he’s out there all alone, that hurts the worst. She wants so badly for there to be an after for him; she’d told him as much, and yet it appears that her words have fallen on deaf ears. She hopes that some day he’ll listen, and maybe, she’ll find him knocking on her door one evening, ready to finally let her in.

It’s snowing in New York now, and with December right around the corner, Karen finds herself dropped in the middle of what seems like scenery out of a holiday movie. Wreaths line the doors of various apartment buildings, and lights are strung up with care, illuminating an already bright night sky when she leaves the office after having worked another late night. She loved the holidays; the generosity of neighbors, the decorations, and the all around good cheer. Even in her darkest of moods, this time of year always gave a much needed boost to an otherwise somber time in her life. As Karen passes by a row of apartment complexes, she’s able to peer into the windows of those on the first floor. While some remain dark, others are alight with the glow from Christmas trees of various colors or a menorah that sits prominently in the window.

Before she knows it, she arrives at her own apartment building, one devoid of the same decorations she’d witnessed mere moments ago. Unlike those homes, hers lacks the warmth and coziness that she so desires. Perhaps next year she would go out of her way to decorate. This year, much to her dismay, she needed to save money to fix up her once bullet-riddled apartment. She often imagined as she worked into the wee hours of the night, patching up said holes, that Frank would have offered to be there for her, to help her correct a grim reminder of why she should steer clear of him. She could hear him now, spouting his usual nonsense of how she needed to get away from him, to keep her nose clean of the shit that he’d bring down on her if she knew what he was privy to. Even now, weeks without him, his voice is still clear as day in her mind.

The key to her apartment glides effortlessly into the deadbolt, and with a twist of her wrist, she successfully unlocks the door. Pushing it open, Karen steps into her darkened place, closing the door behind her before flicking on the light. The moment the light flutters on, she freezes, her hand still lingering by the light switch and her eyes wide with the sight before her. The flowers that she had so diligently dried have disappeared from their vase, and in their place sits the same ceramic vase with a fresh set of white roses. Her heart races with both the initial shock, followed by the sudden realization of what’s happened. As she slowly moves away from the door, Karen slips out of her jacket, setting the garment over the back of one of the chairs that surround the kitchen table. Upon closer inspection, she notices a folded piece of paper propped up against the vase. Reaching out with one hand, she gingerly picks up the paper and lifts it up, fingers unfolding it on its way up to her eye level.

“Karen,” the note begins in a chicken scratch that could only belong to Frank, “I wanted to say that I’m sorry for going on the lam again. I wish that I could say that it’s because I’ve got more shit to uncover and assholes to take down, but that ain’t it this time, and besides, I know you’d give me hell for that.”

Karen smiles to herself when she reads that line, and with a shake of her head, she mutters a “you’ve got that right” just before she carries on reading the remainder of the note.

“I think you’re right after all. I’d like an after too, but to do that, that means that I’ve got to finally face my demons. Take care of yourself while I’m gone, and while you’re at it, get a damn security system. Your lack of defense is disturbing.”

By the time that Karen has finished the letter, tears are streaming down her cheeks and dripping down onto the paper in her hand, wetting the paper and blurring the blue penmanship of the man who’d left the gift for her. She wants so badly to be mad at him, to hate him for leaving her yet again without so much as a goodbye, but this is it, isn’t it? This is his goodbye, see you later, catch you on the flip side. He may not be gone forever, he certainly left it open-ended, and there was no telling when she would see him again. Setting the note back in the same spot and position as she found it, Karen resolves to not let this go. She never let Frank get off the hook this easily, and she sure as hell won’t start now. Investigative work has always been her forte, and if he truly was doing things the right way, then she would find him in no time at all. Tomorrow she would begin her journey to find Frank.


	2. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen has chosen not to give up on Frank. She hasn't before, and she sure as hell won't start now. Using her knack for investigating, Karen hunts down Frank, but what she finds is not what she expects.

Another blustery day has found its way to the city, nestling howling winds and frosty weather between skyscrapers and roadways. Karen had bundled herself nice and tight, wrapping herself up in her favorite (and only) black wool coat. She'd even gone so far as to opt for a pop of color with a strikingly bright purple scarf that currently peeks out from the collar of her jacket. Another breeze passes through the corridor of buildings, tousling her hair about and causing her to dip the lower portion of her face into the safety and warmth of her scarf to keep the wind at bay. She'd left her office early today, using the guise of a lead on her current article-in-progress as an excuse to get away. Truth is, she believes that she's found Frank.

A modest tan brick building sits firmly wedged between two taller buildings of differing color. From the outside, it reads as a small, unassuming business. It it weren't for the men she'd seen ducking into it mere minutes before, Karen would have sworn that the place was abandoned. Glancing down at the paper in her hand, she double checks the address with the gold colored street numbers that rest just above the building's entrance. As unassuming as it seems, she has the right place. Unfortunately for the city, there aren't too many places where veterans can gather together and unload the horrors that they've witnessed overseas. Karen had already sat in on two other locations, hoping to find Frank, but to no avail. This address is her final stop. He had to be here. Tucking the paper into her pocket, Karen crosses the quiet road, eyes focused on the black door that will lead her to her destination.

The metal handle of the main entrance has soaked up the frigid temperatures of the outdoors, making for one hell of a jolt when Karen reaches for the door. Pulling it open, she winces as the metal creaks and groans in announcement of her arrival. Upon immediate entry, she can hear men talking in a nearby room, though the voices are muffled. It's quiet in the hallway, but even so, she's still unable to hear just what's being said. She can, however, tell that they're nearby. Slowly, she begins to walk down the hallway, the click of her heels echoing off of the tile that lines the walls of the hallway. The first few rooms that she passes are dark and devoid of any signs of life, but as she continues to walk, she can hear the voices growing more prominent. She's getting close now.

Rounding the corner, Karen spots a door on her right, and unlike the rest, a light is on and there seems to be activity coming from within. Halting her movements, she approaches the door and peers into the tiny window. In the room sits a relatively large circle of men of varying ages, all of which have seen differing eras of war, but all with similar stories of shared struggles. A man who, Karen estimates to be about in his sixties, is speaking animatedly, his hands flailing about as if to help get his point across. As he finishes his passionate speech, Karen's attention is drawn to the man who's seemingly spearheading the meeting. He's speaking now, though she can only hear his words as nothing but muffled sound thanks to the door. His gaze lifts to inadvertently meet hers through the tiny window. She offers him a fleeting smile, though as he turns his attention back to the older man, Karen can't help but wonder if she was even seen at all. Shaking off the thought, she returns to the task at hand. Her eyes sweep the faces in the crowd, stopping only when she's met by an all too familiar side profile. Frank is sitting towards the back of the room at the bottom of the circle, his attention fixated on the man in his sixties, nodding occasionally at whatever the man seems to be saying. She finds it odd, now that she's analyzing his stoic expression, that she just now realizes that she doesn't ever think she's seen his face without any bruising on it. Had he truly put his fighting days to bed? It isn't until now, seeing him here truly trying to get help and to better himself, that any and all anger or resentment over his choice to leave dissolves irrevocably.

The sudden scraping of chairs against the linoleum floor pulls her thoughts back to the present and snaps her out of her reverie. The meeting has ended. She would be face to face with Frank any minute now.

Stepping back away from the door, her hands slipping into her jacket pockets, Karen stands across the hall with her back resting against the wall. She wonders if he'll notice her, or if he'll simply pass by, his mind occupied with more pressing matters brought on by whatever has been shared at the meeting. The door opens to unleash a flood of men who are quick to vacate the room in order to carry on with their lives and, hopefully, utilize whatever helpful advice has been given to them in this most recent session. Naturally, Frank has stayed behind to help clean up and place the chairs in their designated orderly piles, stacked atop one another at the back of the room. Karen waits until it's just Frank and the group's leader remaining before she opts to make her presence known. Inhaling a much needed breath to steel her nerves, she pushes herself away from the wall and approaches the room, pausing at the threshold. It takes the other man no time at all to spot her, and unlike before, this time he's smiling across the room at her. She may not be a mind reader, but the sideways glance he gives in Frank's direction says it all. Frank's been talking about her. Karen can't help but return the smile, albeit timidly. Clearing his throat, the smiles still plastered on his face, the man makes his way to the door, slipping past Karen with a nod and a brief "ma'am". When she resumes her position in the doorway, hands still stuffed deep into her jacket pockets, she finds that Frank has ceased all work and is simply staring at her from across the room. Her initial impression is that his expression reads bewilderment, but there's another emotion there, just beyond the surface, that she simply can't put her finger on. Not yet, at least.

"Karen," he says, her name sounding like a question.

Frank remains in place, making no move to approach her. Karen does the same.

"Frank." Her reply is more matter of fact. That is his name, after all.

Silence falls between the pair, and though she swears it should be uncomfortable, she can't help but feel that it is anything but. She's never uncomfortable in his presence, and should he wish it, she would stand here in silence for as long as he needed. But, like all things Frank Castle, the silence doesn't stay for long.

"What are you doing here," Frank asks. His brows crease to signify the confusion he's currently experiencing. The question is an innocent one with no sense of an underlying meaning behind it. He isn't hiding anything, after all. He told her everything she needed to know in his letter.

Karen shifts her weight from one foot to the other, shrugging in response to his question. "I came to see you."

"No shit." Again, his tone is nothing but earnest. Frank would never dare be anything other with Karen. He was, is, and always will be open and honest with her. It's how they both prefer this, whatever this is.

"No shit." Karen mirrors his expression, her voice barely audible when she speaks this time around. Exhaling a breath, she takes a step out of the room and motions with a nod of her head for Frank to join her. "Can we talk," she asks, hopeful that he'll say yes.

Frank nods in agreement, already taking steps to join her out into the hallway. Like Karen, his hands are also stuffed now in the pockets of his jacket, though by the time they reach the entrance he's removed them so that he can open the door for her. Offering him a quick thank you, Karen steps out into the cold daylight, Frank close behind.

"Your place, or mine," Frank asks, a hint of playfulness in his question. He doesn't dare think that she'll take him seriously, and so, he follows up with a more appropriate offer. "I know a good diner around the block. Serves the best damn coffee the Boros have ever tasted, and that's a fact."

Karen smiles up at the man, but shakes her head. "Maybe another time? I was actually thinking of going back to mine, if that's alright? I thought maybe talking things out without prying eyes and ears would be the best option."

The cold makes Karen inadvertently shiver which in turn causes Frank to reach out and run his hand down along the back of her coat. It's a welcomed gesture in Karen's mind, one that she'll take as nothing more than a wholesome one as well as a silent agreeance to her suggestion. Their walk wouldn't be far, thankfully, and as they begin to make their way down the sidewalk, their steps now falling in sync with one another, they once again find themselves shrouded in the ever familiar comfortable silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy that so many of you seemed to enjoy the first chapter. I love Karen and Frank so much, and I've been inspired to write yet another chapter. Enjoy!


	3. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen had it all rehearsed perfectly in her mind, but conversations never do go as planned. All she can do is ask that Frank stay.

The walk to Karen’s apartment is short-lived, and in no time at all, she finds herself at her doorstep with Frank at her side. She shouldn’t be as nervous as she is, and she silently hopes like hell that he can’t tell that she is. Her hand is reaching out now to slip her key into the deadbolt to unlock the door of her apartment, and soon she pushes open the door to step inside with Frank close behind. As Karen steps into the apartment, she sets her purse and keys aside on the console table that lines the wall of the entryway. It isn’t until she moves into the living room, however, that she steps out of her shoes, kicking them under the coffee table with a swift side-swipe of her now bare left foot.

Karen takes a moment to collect herself and gather her thoughts. Her hands are wringing one another, and her eyes close briefly while she inhales a deep and much needed breath. She’s caught up between anger and sadness now, and she’s silently chastising herself for bringing Frank back to her apartment. She shouldn’t have done this, but it isn’t as if she can turn back now. She’s here and he’s here, and there is no kicking him out. Not yet. Not until she’s explained herself, and not until he’s explained himself as well. They have plenty of talking to do, and as uncomfortable as it is for her, she would prefer that it happen sooner rather than later. She doesn’t think she can handle another disappearance from the man behind her.

“I got your note,” she says quietly before inhaling another breath.

She doesn’t mention the flowers. They aren’t important, not now. Karen turns around and is startled to find that Frank has somehow managed to get entirely too close to her without so much as making a sound. It’s funny, imagining a man of his stature moving about so quietly. It’s not wonder he’s able to butcher as many people as he has in the past. She wonders if he still does, though if his note is any indication, perhaps he’s stopped. They’re face to face now, their bodies mere inches from one another, and Karen’s hands have landed on her hips as her face tips back ever so slightly to look up at him.

Frank gives her a nod in acknowledgment of her statement. He’s well aware that she received it. Why else would she have gone out of her way to track him down like this; before he’s ready to come back. Karen’s raising her brows in disbelief. She’s flabbergasted at his silence.

“Well,” she asks in exasperation.

“Well,” Frank asks, his voice low and calm.

Karen’s hands extend outwards at her sides before falling back down to slap against her outer thighs. “No sorry I left without so much as a word? No goodbye? Nothing?”

He hates it when she’s like this, disappointed and….hurt. He hates that it’s him that’s done this to her. But it’s always him, isn’t it? If it’s not Murdock, it’s definitely him. The woman in front of him never knows how to be around those who don’t hurt her, save for maybe that other lawyer, what was his name? Foggy, that’s it. But Foggy’s a friend, one that Karen has no interest in aside from the occasional drink and conversation. He isn’t the one she seeks out when she’s like this. Frank is. Even when he’s the cause of such pain.

“I left you a note,” he says, and he’s lucky that she doesn’t haul off and send a hand across his face in anger. She’s good like that, he supposes; good at reigning in her anger, good at being the mediator even when she deserves to release whatever emotions she’s holding back.

She breathes out a dry bout of laughter, and with a shake of her head, she turns back around and moves away from him. He hadn’t noticed the heat that lingered between them until she’s no longer there. Her absence leaves him cold. He hates that too. Frank watches as she walks to the window, her arms now crossed in front of her chest, a defensive gesture. She has her guard up now, as if she didn’t already.

“Right,” says Karen, her head nodding once while her eyes look out at the building across from her own. The light is on, and the blinds are drawn, but she can still see shadows of the tenants within.

“Look,” he says, taking a step towards her, “I just need to get my head on right, Karen. You know the shit that I’ve been through. I...”

Frank trails off, he isn’t sure how to continue. She may not be the only one who knows the whole story now thanks to Madani’s investigation, but Karen’s the only one to truly know how the events of his life have affected Frank on a personal and emotional level. Letting her in like that means something to him, and it means something to her too. It’s why one can never truly let go of the other.

“I’m not built for this, Karen. I’m not built for an after, no matter how bad I want it.”

It’s this final line that stings the most. He may not believe that he deserves an after, but Karen has done nothing but believe in him time and time again. It frustrates her that he won’t do the same for himself. Again, she shakes her head, and pivoting from her spot by the window, she quickly advances on the man who’s only one step closer to her than he had been before. She makes sure to get as close to him as they’d been prior to her distancing herself from him. Her hand lifts to poke an index finger angrily against his chest as she begins to speak.

“You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just disappear on me again. A note isn’t good enough, not when you’re out there doing God knows what. For all I know you could have been dead.”

She isn’t looking at him now. Though her finger is still digging into the left side of his chest, she’s avoiding eye contact, and it isn’t difficult to see why. Her eyes are filled with tears, and she’s desperately trying to contain them before they can spill down onto her cheeks. She’s angry, hurt, disappointed, and filled with every other available emotion. Seeing her like this, it tears Frank up inside. He’d told her time and time again to stay away from him, why couldn’t she have just listened to him the first time? She would have avoided this hurt if she would only listen.

Without so much as a verbal response, Frank reaches out to encircle his arms around the woman in front of him. At first, Karen fights him as he pulls her in closer, her fists hitting his chest and the tears finally trailing down reddened cheeks. But the closer she gets to him, the less she fights, until finally he’s holding her body flush against his and her face is buried in the crook of his neck. Frank won’t dare let go until she’s calm, but as the sobs begin, he knows that it’ll be a while until that happens. He does his best to soothe her with a series of shushes and reassurances that he isn’t going anywhere again, that he’ll be right here, always. Gently, he guides her to the couch to sit. She doesn’t dare let go, and neither does he.

They remain like this, holding onto one another, for the next few hours, and as promised, he stays.


	4. Parting Ways

By all accounts and purposes, Karen is anything but a heavy sleeper. Given that she lives in the heart of the city, it doesn’t exactly make for the best sleeping conditions. But she’s slept well last night. So well, in fact, that she hadn’t woken up once, not even after both she and Frank fell asleep together on the couch. At some point throughout the night, their bodies had shifted, causing Frank to end up spread out flat against the couch cushions and Karen splayed out on top of him.

The early morning sun peeks through the window of Karen’s apartment, bathing the living room in gold and pulling Frank from his slumber. Like Karen, he too slept well last night. Not a trace of his usual nightmares, nor any sense of impending doom that may keep him up. He lifts a hand up to rub the grogginess away from his left eye before doing the same to his right, his movements causing Karen to move against him, though she remains asleep.

Carefully, Frank lifts one of Karen’s arms up and away from his torso, doing his best to slide out from underneath of her without waking her. It’s a painfully slow process, but it’s one that he manages to complete successfully. Once he has Karen placed comfortably on the couch, he reaches over to remove the beige crocheted blanket from the back of the couch and draped it across her body. Almost immediately, Karen curls up beneath the warmth of the material, and Frank thinks he can hear her mumbling in annoyance about her mother.

Moving away from the couch, Frank takes the short steps necessary to cross the length of the floor until he finds himself in the tiny kitchen. A bag of coffee sits out beside the coffee machine, ready to be used at a moment’s notice. Much like Frank, Karen loves her daily cup - or three. Setting up the machine as required, Frank presses the button to begin brewing, his arms folding across his chest as he turns to rest his lower half against the formica countertop.

His gaze flickers to the clock that’s mounted on the wall above the small desk that’s covered in scattered papers along with a laptop. 7 am. He needs to leave soon if he’s going to make his meeting on time. Looking down to where Karen remains, the smell of coffee beginning to fill the apartment, he finds himself debating whether or not to wake her before he goes. He’d hate to do it, but given her reaction to his leaving last time, walking out - even though he’ll be back - doesn’t seem like the smartest decision.

The coffee machine beeps, signaling that it’s ready for consumption.

Frank turns to pull the coffee from the machine and pour himself a cup. The mug is barely halfway filled when he feels the familiar sensation of being watched. The hairs on his arms raise with the sensation that he just can never seem to get used to. She’s awake, and she’s standing behind him.

“Mornin’,” he says, finishing filling the mug before doing the same to the second.

His voice is low, but still carries the familiar hoarse tone that Karen has come to love. She’s tired, but waking up to the loss of being wrapped up in his physical presence was enough to snap her right out of her groggy haze; like ice cold water’s been dumped over the entirety of her body.

“Morning,” she says, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

Frank turns to offer her the second and hottest mug of coffee which she takes gratefully. Like him, she takes her coffee straight, no watering it down unnecessarily with creamer or milk and definitely no sweeteners of any kind. She likes it bitter. He likes that about her.

“I, uh, I got a meeting at 8.” Once again, his gaze moves to the clock on the wall. 7:15. He’ll need to leave no later than 7:30 if he’s going to make it on time.

Karen nods her head, her hands wrapped around the hot mug to allow the warmth the travel to the rest of her body. She knew that he’d leave. He always does. But at least he’s leaving for something positive this time. She can accept that.

“Okay.”

He doesn’t miss the look of disappointment that flashes across her face and then disappears in the blink of an eye. She’s lifting the mug up to her mouth now to take a long sip of the coffee. Grabbing the other mug, he does the same.

Silence once again falls between them, though unlike all other times before, the lack of sound is uncomfortable. Frank shifts from foot to foot, downing the last of what’s in his mug before setting it down.

“You gonna be here around 9:30?” He’s hopeful, though he knows she’s almost never home. She’s always out and about chasing down some sort of lead if she isn’t out there hunting him down.

Karen pulls the mug away from her mouth and licks away the drop of coffee that settles onto her bottom lip before responding. “Uh, no. I’ve got an article to write. /But/,” she says, her finger now tapping against the ceramic cup, “we can meet at the diner for lunch? Say, maybe around noon?”

Frank nods in agreement. He’s got nowhere better to be, and it isn’t as if he’d turn her down anyway. “Yeah. Noon sounds good.”

He smiles warmly at her, and it’s a look that she’s only seen one other time. She wishes that she could see it more. After she returns the expression with her own, he moves past her, his hand reaching out to give her arm a reassuring squeeze as if to say that things will be alright. He hasn’t even stepped out of the door and he knows that she’s already worrying about him.

He worries about her too.


	5. Inevitable

Frank’s meeting comes and goes with a slowness he hasn’t experienced in a long time. He’s been eagerly anticipating his lunch with Karen, and his need to get his meeting over and done with shows in how quickly he goes through his daily spiel about how he’s feeling and coping with civilian life. Curtis notices it immediately; urges Frank to slow down and start again, which he does. But his fingers are twitching in that familiar way that they do when he’s anticipating a future event. It’s a habit he hasn’t seen since his last kill.

Curtis notices that too.

***

The top of the door leading into the diner scrapes against an overhead bell, causing it to ring loudly; it’s a sign that there’s a new patron entering the building. But Frank is anything but new. He’s been to this place more times than he can count, and since he’s never given the waitress his name, she’s stuck to calling him ‘hipster’. He hated the name at first, especially given the fact that he’s rid himself of the beard and long hair, but now he’s grown used to the name. It no longer bothers him.

His eyes scan the rows of seats and tables until they land on the familiar strawberry blonde hair belonging to Karen. She’s sitting with her back to him, leaving the seat across from her open just for him. She knows that he likes to have the vantage point; he wants to be able to see everyone coming in and going out of the establishment. He may be putting his vigilante days behind him (for now), but old habits do die hard, and he appreciates her gesture.

Heavy footsteps carry him forward until he’s sliding into the seat across from her in the booth where she’s sitting. She’s got a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

“Thought you hated reading the news,” he says with a smirk.

Journalism may be in her very DNA, but she’s complained more often times than not just how much she hated hearing or reading the news. ‘It makes you feel like there’s no good left in the world’, she would say. He supposes that she’s not wrong, but then again, she doesn’t exactly help by contributing to the long line of depression that’s pumped out. But he knows that she tries; it’s why she’s always so goddamn stubborn, trying to bring down everyone and anything that she can. Like a bloodhound picking up a scent, she does what she can do that all of her stories have a happy ending for the citizens of Hell’s Kitchen.

“I do. But it’s an intrinsical part of my job, so..” Karen drops the newspaper onto the table and motions to it with a wave of her hand. “How was your meeting?”

Frank removes his hat from his head and drops it down onto the formica table top before leaning back against the vinyl-covered seat. His shoulders rise and fall into a non-chalant shrug just as his hands fall into his lap.

“Same shit different day, you know how it goes.”

He doesn’t even have to ask, before he knows it, the waitress is dropping off a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs directly in front of him. She’s brought a pot of coffee too, and once she’s done pouring him a cup, she leaves the pot for his consumption, and Karen’s too. Frank wastes no time in digging in, his fork soon piled high with the fluffy eggs.

“So,” he says before she can press for more information, “what kind of story are you working on now?”

Karen may not say it, but he can tell by her behavior that she’s working on something, and his assumption is that it’s something big. Her fingers are tapping against the sides of the cup that she holds in her hands; it’s her tell, one that lets him know that she’s got a new lead and she’s chomping at the bit to follow up on it.

“Hm?” She’s allowed herself to get momentarily lost in thought, a move which causes her to silently chastise herself for. She knows what she’s about to tell him will only halt the positive progress that he’s made thus far, but they’ve always held honesty in the highest regard. “Oh, uh...”

There’s that hesitation again. She hates that it’s her who has to deliver this news, but it’s something he needs to hear, regardless of the set backs it may bring. “Billy’s awake..”

She leaves it at that, letting those two simple words to sink in; allowing Frank to digest them as he sees fit. Karen doesn’t miss the way in which the muscles in his jaws flex with a visible agitation. She doesn’t miss how his grip tightens around the fork in his hand.

But even still, he remains silent, only giving her a nod of acknowledgement before digging back into his meal. She isn’t stupid, she knows what this means. Gone are the days of trying to do right. It’s only a matter of time until the Punisher resurfaces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry that it’s taken me so long to update, but thank you to everyone who’s commented and enjoyed the story so far.


End file.
